‘Agreed,’ he said. ‘So do we have a deal?’
More lies aside, Greyson Tyler’s suggestion really did seem to solve a multitude of problems. ‘We do.’
THERE was something about waiting for the eminent Dr Greyson Tyler to arrive at her workplace that set Charlotte’s jaw to clenching. Correction: the waiting part wasn’t the problem. He set her on edge regardless.
She’d been expecting a scientist—a no-nonsense man of formidable intellect and optional physical prowess. Instead she’d encountered Action Man in the flesh, a man so physically fine, quick thinking, and composed in the face of complications that a woman couldn’t help but wonder what life would be like with a man like that in it. Not steady and predictable, she wagered. Anything but.
Not boring or empty either.
Greyson Tyler was a living, breathing reminder of a life she’d left behind in her quest for inner contentment, security, and peace of mind. Hardly his fault that for all her efforts to settle down, the jury was still out on whether staying in Sydney was making her happy. Where the hell was he?
Charlotte had plenty of work to be going on with. Satellite images to look at for a dig site that showed promise. Third-year essays to correct, a lecture to prepare, and no patience this morning for any of it. Greyson was twenty minutes late already. He’d been late yesterday too. The man had a punctuality problem.
That or he’d decided that he didn’t need a fake fiancée after all.
Rapping on her open door signalled a visitor and Charlotte turned to see who it was.
Millie.
‘Morning tea time,’ said Millie.
Indeed it was, and the perfect time for introducing a formerly dead pretend fiancé to her colleagues, but Greyson Tyler did not put in an appearance during the break.
Gil would have never been so tawdry.
But when she and Millie walked back along the corridor after the break, Charlotte discovered she had a visitor. A visitor who felt at home enough to plant his rear in her chair and his boots on her filing cabinet while he browsed through one of her archaeology journals.
Millie stopped. Stared.
Greyson Tyler glanced up, nodded to Millie, and favoured Charlotte with a deliciously slow smile; an invitation to come play with him if she dared.
‘You made it,’ she said icily.
‘Of course.’ Greyson’s smile widened. Lucifer would have been proud. ‘I always do. Eventually.’
Millie was still staring. Charlotte figured introductions were in order. ‘Millie, this is Tyler. He arrived home yesterday, rather unexpectedly. Tyler, meet Millie. Historian, map muse, and friend.’
‘But …’ Millie slid Charlotte a lightning glance before returning her attention to the figure in the chair. ‘You’re not dead.’
‘No,’ said Grey. ‘Well spotted.’
‘Apparently there was some confusion on that score,’ murmured Charlotte.
‘But … that’s wonderful!’ said Millie on firmer footing.
‘I’m glad someone thinks so,’ said Grey.
Greyson Tyler played the part of antagonist exceptionally well, decided Charlotte. The man was a natural.
With fluid grace, Greyson found his feet and held out his hand towards Millie, his smile a study in warmth and friendliness. ‘Charlotte’s had a rough few months, what with one thing and another,’ he offered in that chocolate coated baritone. ‘Thanks for helping her out.’
Millie shook his hand as if awestruck. Millie blushed, caught Charlotte’s eye and blushed some more.
‘How long are you planning on staying angry with him?’ Millie asked her.
‘A while,’ said Charlotte.
‘Good luck with that.’ Millie slid another helpless smile in Greyson’s direction. ‘I’m so glad you weren’t eaten by marauding tribesmen,’ she told him. ‘Did you manage to prevent the village daughters from being kidnapped as well?’
Grey blinked. A muscle ticced beside his mouth. ‘Yes,’ he said finally.
‘Hard to stay angry with a hero,’ said Millie.
‘Oh, it’s not that hard,’ said Charlotte.
Stifling a grin, Millie left.
Charlotte shut the door in Millie’s wake, took a steadying breath, and turned to face the man currently dominating her office space. His charming friendly smile had disappeared. The formidable Greyson Tyler had returned and he seemed out of sorts.
‘I think that went well, don’t you?’ she said lightly.
‘You told them I’d been eaten? By cannibals?’
‘Not you,’ she said soothingly. ‘Gil. And of course nothing was ever certain.’
‘And they believed you?’
‘It happens,’ said Charlotte.
‘Sixty years ago. Maybe.’
‘What’s a few decades? Besides, it’s a moot point. You’re back, alive and kicking and about to become my ex-fiancé. You need to embrace the bigger picture here.’
‘I’ll refrain from mentioning what I think you need,’ he said.
‘Greyson, all is well. Your work here is done and I do sincerely thank you for it,’ she said earnestly. ‘I’m still prepared to attend this barbecue with you but if you’d rather not … If you’ve decided you no longer need a fictional fiancée, or that I’m too irresponsible and that no one’s going to believe we’re an item anyway, it doesn’t have to happen. Your call.’
Greyson’s gaze grew intent. Whatever other flaws he had, there was no denying that the man could focus intently on something when he wanted to. ‘You welshing on me, Greenstone? I come through for you and you don’t reciprocate? Is that how you repay your debts?’
‘I didn’t say that,’ she said evenly, never mind the erratic beating of her heart. ‘I’m simply giving you the opportunity to reconsider your options. Fictional fiancés are more trouble than they’re worth—trust me on this. I’m doing you a favour by pointing this out.’
‘You’re very kind,’ he said smoothly. ‘I propose an experiment. Something that lets me decide if bringing you along to meet the family is going to work.’ He drew closer. Close enough for her to feel the heat in that big lean body of his. Close enough for her to catch the scent of him. Tantalisingly male, undeniably appealing. And then there was his mouth. Such a tempting mouth.
‘Kiss me,’ he murmured, and her eyes flew to his.
‘Excuse me?’
‘That’s the experiment,’ he said. ‘If there’s no chemistry we’re square. Finished.’ His lips moved closer. ‘Through.’ Greyson’s lips brushed hers, and Charlotte drew a ragged breath. ‘No barbecue.’ And then his lips were on hers, warm and coaxing, not demanding, not yet.
Teasing, those lips of his.
Practised, the hand that came up to cradle her skull and position her for deeper invasion, only he didn’t invade, not yet.
Torture first.
Slow,